


Untitled #3

by crediniaeth



Series: The Untitled Series [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crediniaeth/pseuds/crediniaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know who it is immediately. His is a voice I always recognize, no matter what cacophony surrounds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled #3

 

C.

\-----

There’s a voice at my window, singing high and clear.

I know who it is immediately. His is a voice I always recognize, no matter what cacophony surrounds him.

It’s the middle of the night, and this boy is not where he should be, no matter how welcome he is at my door.

(He’s welcome in my heart, and in my bed, but those are opportunities far out of my reach.)

Exiting the cabin, I find him still at my window, singing to an empty bed he doesn’t know is growing cold. He turns, hearing my approach. He greets me with a smile on his face, a smile that I hold as precious as any jewel. Only this one is tainted. The boy has a vice, and it has hold of him this night.

I walk him back to his cabin, the crisp, fallen leaves crunching under our feet; his arm around my shoulders, my arm around his waist. I fight the urge to stop him, to let him finish his song. Let his inebriation finish whatever brought him to me in the first place.

(There has to be something there. _There has to be._ )

But it’s not my place. I won’t take advantage. His decision was made long ago.

Something goes wrong on our journey, and he’s hurt. Badly. His clear voice silenced by his injury.

I panic.

I leave him alone in the dark, no intent of help in my retreat.

My actions leave me with regret, fear, sadness.

The boy is found, eventually, but his voice remains silent. No one knows when he’ll come back to sing his beautiful songs and smile his sweet smile.

I don’t know how to right this wrong. The words won’t come, not that he could hear them.

(Or could he? Would he understand why? When he opens his eyes again, would he forgive me? Would he even remember?)

Open your eyes, dear one. Smile for me.

Come back.

You _have_ to come back.


End file.
